


wait, for the tides of change will come

by m_feys



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Emotions, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jonathan Byers-centric, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, jonathan byers feels responsible for everything when he shouldnt, most of this is about the inherent trauma of being poor, older sibling feels, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_feys/pseuds/m_feys
Summary: Sometimes, the world becomes a kind of broken thatcanbe stitched back up.





	wait, for the tides of change will come

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Pure Gold by half•alive

There are people who think that their house is a mess. That it's pathetic. There are people who think they have a terrible mother. That they're all crazy. He hates them for thinking that.  
Those are the kind of people who like to push you out because your clothes aren't nice enough, or you don't talk the right way, or you don't talk at all. Really, the worst is all the things people say behind his back, that they think he can't hear. Or maybe they just don’t care.  
His brother gets it just as bad, sometimes worse, and he hates that even more.

When they struggle. When things go wrong. When his mother has to work overtime most of the week just to get by. Jonathan just thinks _he_ isn't doing enough.  
When there's not enough food on the table he puts less on his plate. He works every extra shift he can. And he doesn't talk to his mom because she's got enough to worry about.

He doesn't remember all that much of being just a _kid_. He learned how to make his own meals by the time he was twelve and watching out for Will had always been his job, until he got an actual job to go along with it.  
Sometimes he feels like he missed something other people seem to have, simple things, like eating whatever you want out of the fridge because you knew your next meal would still be there if you did. Or going out with friends whenever you want, not that he had friends, really.  
But what about being a teen and not having to wake up early on Saturdays to go to work? Or how about blaring music to annoy your parents, instead of to drown out their yelling? Or not having to make sure you step lightly because you knew your dad was in the house?

His dad had always wanted him to be more of a man. He was too soft, too quiet, too _weak_. He liked to just observe birds, or bugs, or people. Just to sit quietly and look at everything against the backdrop of the world. There was something about that part of him that his dad had hated. In fact, it seemed like the whole world saw something in Jonathan that they wanted to snuff out.  
He knew what the words meant. Not when his father _first_ screamed them at him while he was crying, no. But at school, you heard whispers about the boys who looked funny, or acted wrong. The kind of things his father would try to destroy in him, making him shoot guns and kill rabbits. Those words he would say about his little brother that would make Jonathan's blood boil.  
Their mother never let Lonnie take Will on hunting trips, not after Jonathan was eight and they argued outside his room while he sobbed. He was grateful, and he refused to let himself be envious. He would always try to shield his brother from the worst of what his dad could throw at him, but he knew he couldn't stop all of it. It was never enough.

Sometimes he wonders, how the hell Nancy doesn't feel this vicious worry for her brother _all the time_. How she doesn't feel entirely responsible when he's in danger, no matter the circumstance. How she doesn't feel the need to make sure he _never_ feels alone.  
And then he remembers it's probably because she didn't have a piece-of-shit dad breathing down her neck, for the first half of her life, gone for the next. Managing to make their lives worse all the while. Or how her mother doesn't have to work late every day, so she's there to help him with his homework, and talk to him about his day, and make sure he brushes his teeth. How he never went missing for a week, all because she worked a late shift when she shouldn't have.  
He's not bitter about it though. Not at all. It all just seems so strange, as if he staring through a portal to what his life could have looked like in another world.  
But he wouldn't trade it for the world. Not what he and Will have. He loves his brother dearly, he's thankful they're so close. Even with all they've been through.

They share music and Will shows him his drawings and talks to him about his friends. Sometimes Will tells him about his problems and Jonathan doesn't always know what the right thing to say is, but he keeps going until he does get it or at least gets _close_. He wants Will to keep coming back to him. To talk, to listen, even just to sit next to each other.  
It's hard, knowing Will won't come to him for help sometimes. That for whatever number of reasons, he feels like he can’t. Jonathan understands that, though. He understands because he doesn't go to anyone either. Doesn’t want to burden them. Even his mom— _especially_ his mom— unless she twists his arm. Or unless it all boils over. Nancy is the exception to that rule. Just as she is the exception to most rules. He can go to her, just the same as she comes to him.

There's something easy about Nancy. Actually— _nothing_ is easy about Nancy. She's kind of like a controlled burn. Like there's this fire roaring in her, always. But most of the time she keeps it clamped down into something she can wield, like a weapon. Precise like a bullet hitting a soda can from yards away. For the of the rest of the time, when those fires get out of hand, she will burn anything around her.  
But there was something about talking to her, being with her, loving her, that just made sense. So much sense. In a way that nothing in his life ever seemed to before.  
They were a good team. They shaped each other and spurred each other into being, wanting, doing _more_. And it wasn't that they were perfect, or as if they didn’t have to work at it. But when they did it was _good_. They were just a spark at first, then they were fire and gasoline blazing to life, and after that, it was about guiding it into a steady flame, something that could last. They kept coming back to each other and it just _worked_.  
It was kind of really scary, at first. No— actually, if he was being honest, he thinks it will always be _scary_. How much sense it makes for them to be together when it would be so easy for them to break apart, in so many different ways. It terrifies him so much, and he only admits that in the dark of the night, with her in his arms, telling her how afraid he is to lose her. Would he just be lost if she were gone? Fire snuffed out and all the light lost?  
It feels like it, but he knows that's never a good path of thought to tread.

He thinks about it sometimes. How he thought his little brother, his best friend in the world, was dead, for a day. How he yelled at his mother for refusing to believe it.  
It had felt like the end of the world then too. To lose him, someone so near to his heart. But he kept trudging on like he always did. Kept trudging on because he _had_ to, and— without pause— so did the world.  
He wonders if his mother thinks about it too. He knows she thinks about a lot of things, regrets just as many. And he wishes he could tell her she shouldn't have to feel that way without being a hypocrite.  
And maybe one day all the regrets and grief and strings of his heart that kept getting caught would pull him apart. Unravel him and rip open his chest. But the worst thing about losing someone was that it was _never_ the end of the world. Only the end of yours.

Did he even have anyone around him he hadn't let so close it that it wouldn't tear up his heart if they were gone?  
It was silly, he was so afraid, and yet he got so deeply attached. _Still_, he wouldn't trade them for the world, even if it would be safer or smarter if he did. It's not as if he actually has the choice.  
But his world had ended before, with someone— too close— ripping up all those vulnerable parts in his chest. He’s starting to learn you can build it back better. It's just hard, and it hurts.

It was painful, hard work, to claw his way to where he was. But he knows in the end it doesn't matter. He got here one way or another. With his mom, and Will, and Nancy. With people he wants to be surrounded with, he's grateful for it, so the rest doesn't really matter.

He has his world.

**Author's Note:**

> Jonathan is my favorite character and the line he said to Nancy, about how she doesn't understand because she's always been financially secure, really got me as someone who has been poor for most of their life. so i started writing this and it spiraled from there.
> 
> I just really relate to who Jonathan is (even tho im actually the youngest sibling!) and i hope i did these feelings justice bc many of them were very genuine and personal for me, and hopefully none of it got jumbled as i was pouring it into words.
> 
> let me know if you liked it! I really appreciate comments though im probably not going to always reply (but please do be sensitive bc, like i said, this writing was very personal for me)


End file.
